Shadows of our Fathers
by ingridarcher
Summary: Years after the Horde and Alliance worked together to depose the corrupt and power-hungry warchief Garrosh Hellscream, Thrall's daughter Tar'ash learns what it means to be a leader—the hard way.
1. Prologue

This story is based on characters from Warcraft which is Blizzard's and all that blah blah et cetera...I've been working through it in my head and on paper for a while, constantly re-working it to adhere to canon. At this point, I know that it will either never get finished or be eventually be unhinged by the game's story as it's revealed, so I feel I ought just go ahead and post it, and soldier on. This is only the prologue; the real story takes place years in the future, as you will find when I upload chapter 1. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!

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It felt as if the air itself were cooking her alive.

The hut was small, its close walls decorated with yellow wood, orange furs, and red tapestries that through her sweat-blurred eyes looked like fire burning around her. Pain seemed to boil out from her bulbous stomach, like an egg being cooked solid. She was dizzy with the feverish heat and pain, groaning and growling and clawing at the furs beneath her.

Hours it had been; hours of sickly-sweet encouraging words from her midwife and of straining the muscles from her stomach down, and of wave after wave of biting pain. The orcish woman at her side had tried to sooth her, taking a damp cloth to her forehead. The water had been cool at first; now it was lukewarm and stifling.

In the past months, the Dragonmaw's chieftain had flown between feeling awe and love for the thing in her belly, and feeling as if it were some terrible parasite planted in her and slowly eating her away. She remembered the moment where she at last admitted to herself that she was with child, sitting in her room with a small, surgical-sharp poniard clutched in her hand. She'd shaken with indecision, with doubt and rage and helplessness.

_I cannot afford this_, she remembered thinking, _to grow round and soft and raise a child when I have my people to lead. _And the questions...she feared not the ones asked to her with words. It was the ones asked with people's eyes that she feared most. The ones people would answer themselves in their minds without asking them aloud. She could not take the shame of waddling before her advisors, giving orders to her pure and noble warriors with a bastard in her belly.

Zaela had gotten as far as cutting a thin line of red just below her navel. Her hands shook. The pain had been far away. She'd tried to force away thoughts of the child's sire, banished and disgraced, no longer the orc she had given herself to body and soul. She saw his face, the face she wanted so much to hate, and she could not. She had stabbed the poniard into the thick furs of her bed and roared and wept and tore her room apart. Then she had stood, straitened, and lead.

She faced them all, even as it grew impossible to hide that she was with child; she ruled hard and fair. She served Warchief Baine with cunning and honor, and with her implacable countenance dared anyone to judge her unfit to be the Dragonmaw's chieftain. She carried the poniard at her hip, and would stroke its hilt any time she needed to remind herself of the choice she'd made.

Begrudgingly she had accepted a midwife, Yrokka, to care for her in the late months of her pregnancy. She remembered, when the orcess had first inspected her body to ensure both mother and child were healthy, that Yrokka had seen the pale, wormlike scar just underneath her navel. The midwife had asked Zaela no questions; at least, not out loud.

The time was coming. Yrokka was commanding her, telling her when to breath, when to push. The pain made Zaela obey. It was not like the pain of battle; bruises and cuts. It was a deep and ancient pain, primordial, eternal. The pain of life, the pain of a mother. Yrokka commanded her to push, a big push, and Zaela grasped the sweat-soaked furs in her claws and roared with the effort, as if she could frighten the thing from her loins. She wanted it gone. She wanted this fel thing_ out _of her.

"I see the head!" the midwife announce with a glee that made Zaela want to strike her. Yrokka asked for one more, one more big push and it would be over, and even though the chieftain thought she would pass out from the pain, from the strain, from the boiling heat, she clenched her jaw and screeched, pushing with all her great might. She felt it slide out of her like a fish, and in the relief she found her exhaustion; now that the deed was done, she felt too weak to even lift her head. Far off and away, as she felt that she might drift into dreaming, she heard Yrokka squeal with joy. "It's a boy, Chieftain! A little boy! A good slap and he'll be breathi-"

The sound tore Zaela from her hazed journey to unconsciousness; it was an ear-splitting cacophony, a shocking stab into the brain. It sounded as a knife tearing into flesh felt; a hot poker of an agonizing wail. Yrokka nearly dropped the newborn to the floor from the sound, instead managing barely to set him down on the bed before falling to her knees, hands over her ears. The first cry of Zaela's child brought into life should have sounded sweet, not brought her such pain. But the thing howled on heedlessly, its lungs unfortunately healthy.

The dragonmaw chieftain had moments ago felt like she could hardly move, the wet fur of her bed clinging to her sweat-greased body. Now, she had to lift herself up on her elbows, an effort more straining than any battle, and lean forward to grasp her son. She saw on the floor before her Yrokka, crouched with her knees to her breast and her hands on her ears. Below the expression of pain on the orcess' face, Zala spied something else.

_She knows. _

Zaela lifted her weak, sinewy arm up and extended her razor claws, pinching the nipple of a heavy breast until the hard flesh gave and black blood bulged out from the twin holes. She lifted the shrieking child, wincing, and brought him to her. When his small, dark lips found the blood and milk, the wail faltered. The child gurgled, then suckled and was silent.

She sighed, not only with the feeling of strange, muffled, ringing silence that followed after the terrible sound of her child's first breaths, but with a sudden rush of maternal comfort. This was a right thing, to take her son to her breast; to nourish him and care for him. For her to protect him from all harm. Zaela heard the dulled sound of Yrokka getting to her feet and moving to her side. With her eyes the midwife asked Zaela the question, and with a stern look, the chieftain answered it. Yrokka's mouth opened; her lip quivered. Zaela's expression was unchanged.

"I will never speak of this to anyone, chieftain," said the midwife in a breathless, muffled voice, feeling the hard relief of the babe's silence as it suckled hungrily at Zaela's grey breast, her dark blood coloring the boy's lips black. She looked back down at her child with bittersweet affection.

"No...you won't," she whispered, her voice a deadly calm.

Neither the midwife's flesh nor her voice gave any resistance as the poniard sank deep into her belly. She looked to her chieftain, forlorn and disbelieving, futilely grasping at Zaela's strong, sinewy fist as it gripped the blade hard and slid it up the orcess' middle to her ribcage. Zaela had kept the poniard by her side, thinking this moment, more than ever, she would need to reassure herself that her decision had been the right one. If only she had known that one look at her son's face would have steeled her resolve in a way deeper than any trinket could. Yrokka teetered, he eyes rolled back, her knees buckled, and she slumped onto the dirt floor of the small, sweltering hut. Zaela's eyes had never left her child.


	2. Chapter 1, Part 1: His Square Jaw

_Gren,_

_You told me to write you when you went to Nagrand so now I am!_

Tar'ash chewed on the end of her bamboo quill as she thought slowly on how to continue her letter, her small, sharklike teeth leaving angry bitemarks. Her elbows rested on the writing desk the brewers had provided for her upon her very insistent request when she and her family had arrived. After 20 long seconds of expressive thinking, she continued.

_Right now Papa and Mama and Garad and me are in Pandaria! It is really pretty and all the pandaren are very nice and have a lot of stories. Did you know that the Pandaren who joined the Horde and Alliance came from the back of a giant turtle? I want to go there!_

She paused again after that, looking down at her large, scrawled handwriting with great pride and approval. Tar'ash had learned her runes at an early age, something most orcs never learned at all, and she was quite proud despite her abysmal handwriting. She was glad Gren could read and write as well; in fact, she was so glad she felt she ought to tell him so.

_I am glad you can read and write so that we can talk in letters since you are not allowed to leave while you're training and I can't even come visit either. That's so dumb! Papa says Saurfang is really great and I know a lot of good stories about him but I think he has dumb rules about training._

"You writing to your boyfriend again, Tari?" asked a familiar, scratchy voice from the doorway behind her. Tar'ash swiftly covered her _very private_ letter with a stack of the pandaren's delicate, translucent parchment and spun on her brother, scowling.

"He's not my boyfriend, Garad, you're stupid!" she howled at him, her spine curved in challenge. Her brother, 4 years her senior and already quite tall, only laughed at her and tugged at her wild, wiry, dark-chestnut hair. She grabbed onto the back of her chair to steady herself and kicked him hard. He only laughed again, smiling his wide, clever smile.

Despite his black hair and green skin Garad looked like their mother, with full lips and soft, dreamy eyes. It was unfortunate for poor Tari, who sadly resembled their square-jawed father, a third tusk already peaking out over her top lip. Her features were pronounced, her skin a dull brown, her frame tall and wiry, her head overlarge and her sapphire eyes even more so. Tari was, at 9 years old, starting to notice that she was not, and likely would never be, pretty. She took it better than most girls her age might.

"And yet, you hide your letter..." Garad said coyly, stepping over to the desk and using deft fingers to slide the papers from atop her scrawled note. She dove for it.

"Dooo-ooon't!" she whined, leaning over the letter, claws sinking into the parchment protectively. Garad chuckled, then the sound twisted up into a squeaking pitch, and her brother darkened. Tar'ash laughed maliciously. Garad wrinkled his nose at her then spun and wrapped an arm around her neck, digging his knuckles into her scalp.

"I'll teach you to laugh at me!" he growled jovially, and Tar'ash's arms clawed at him futilely as she laughed and howled for him to release her. The clearing of a throat interrupted them. They both turned to the doorway to find their father's imposing figure folding his thick, green arms and giving them a most serious look. Garad swallowed. Tar'ash chewed her lower lip and looked at the ground.

"Garad? Perhaps, in my old age, I'm not recalling it correctly, but I'd thought that I had asked you to come and fetch your sister for our dinner with Chen. Did she refuse? Is that why you seem to be wrestling her into submission?" A thick, black brow raised up at her older brother.

"She started it," Garad accused with nothing close to a straight face. The wrinkles forming at the edges of their father's blue eyes belied his serious expression. His frown was slowly twisting into a smile, and soon Tari was sure they were not at trouble at all.

"Garad's voice cracked again," she revealed, immediately covering her mouth to hide her huge grin.

"Tari!" Garad protested, but as he did the last syllable cracked and pitched up, and then both father and daughter roared with laughter. Garad at last broke, being far less stubborn than Tar'ash about such things, laughing with them and covering his face with embarrassment. At last, their father calmed his mirth and beckoned them with a meaty hand.

"Come on, you two, Mr. Stormstout awaits us," he rumbled jovially, stepping from the doorway to let them pass, his pale, burlap robes shuffling and the huge, heavy beads at his throat clinking with the motion. Garad, recovering himself and putting on the serious face of a young diplomat, strode past their father, Go'el. Tar'ash was still trying to shuffle out of her chair.

"Do you need help, little one?" her father asked her gently as she hopped off, leaning against the back of the chair for balance.

"No, I'm alright," she answered, reaching with some difficulty for her crutch, which she'd set against the side of the table. With a grunt she tucked it under her arm, grasping the handle with comforting familiarity, and hobbling out of the doorway past her father. He eyed for a moment her desk, and his lips thinned slightly upon spotting the name writ there in Tari's large, bold hand.

_Gren._

Sighing, he watched his little daughter head down the paper-lined hallway of the brewery, then slid the door shut behind him and followed.


	3. Chapter 1, Part 2: The Mok'Nathal

The table was covered in plates, and the plates were covered in food.

Tar'ash patted the back of her hand with her chopsticks in a quick rhythm while wiggling her foot, anxiously eying every item: steaming plates of flat, thick noodles drenched in a thin, black sauce; shumai and bao; a whole duck with crispy, glistening skin; fried wonton; salty soups in giant, ornamented bowls; woks of coffee-black meat and emerald-colored vegetables, glittering with a sugary coating; platters with whole fish wreathed in peppers and leaks; turnip cakes and dumplings; terrine's with ribs half-submerged in broth; a great, red crab, its barbed limbs bent out off the plate and onto the table; pots and pots of tea, and bowls and bowls and bowls of rice.

Dozens of smells hit her, as did the delicious memory of the tastes that went with them. Tar'ash spied her favorite item all the way across the table: steamed pork buns, pale and cloudlike, filled with meat smothered in a sweet, viscous, crimson sauce. She wanted to reach out across 5 dishes to snatch them all for herself, but she knew she had to keep her hands in her lap until all the guests had arrived.

They filtered in one-by-one, some bringing in more food or pushing in carts of their signature brews and offering them to the guests already seated. Garad reached for one, which earned him an admonishing look from his mother. He sheepishly replaced it. The room they were in was open on one side, leading out to the garden. Dusk was settling in, painting the smooth stones and jutting reeds the color of coral and plum; a weeping willow's viney branches moved lazily with the wind, brushed the crystal surface of the water.

Indoors, however, the lanterns were lit and it was all rich, bright reds and yellows. Octagonal windows capped each side of the large room. Pale wood panelling halved the painted red walls, and scrolls and watercolors surrounded them on all sides. Tari's black-lacquered chair was ornate, with a hard red cushion, and all the dishes were white porcelain painted with delicate blue patterns.

At last, Tari heard the warm rumble of Chen Stormstout's voice, bellowing a welcome to them all. She stood with her family and bowed, and Chen admonished them all for it, giving them each a warm hug. He hugged Tari so tight she couldn't breath, but she didn't mind much. Chen was always affectionate, joyful, and enthusiastic, and he had made the brewery one of Tar'ash's favorite places to visit since she could remember.

"Sit, sit, eat, what are you waiting for?" he asked them laughing as he took his seat, and in a wave the guests began reaching forward to fill their plates. The flurry of arms blocked the way to the steamed pork buns, so instead Tar'ash extended her chopsticks to the flat rice noodles in front of her. They kept slithering out from the grasp of her sticks, and it eventually took both hands holding them to get a single noodle on her plate. The table sun around, and she looked expectantly back towards the weaved bowl that had held the steamed pork buns, then her heart fell. It was utterly empty. She audibly sighed, looking despondent, and half-heartedly reached for a square of rice wrapped in a lotus leaf.

"Psst," hissed Garad, elbowing her. She looked up at him. "What's that thing over there called?" he asked her, pointing with his chopsticks. Tar'ash squinted at the dish across the table.

"Those are fish rolls, I think," she answered squinting, then turned back when she thought she felt something tumbling onto her plate in front of her. She looked down to see three fat, white pork buns on her plate, then looked up to see Garad grinning at her. She grinned back and hugged him thankfully. He mussed her hair, then leaned in to whisper something to her.******  
**

"Did you know there's a Mok'Nathal in the mountains east of here?" he asked her. Tari's large eyes widened and her brows reached for her hairline.

"Really?" she had meant to ask, but she had just taken a huge bite of a pork bun, so it came out sounding more like "Uhweawhee?" The girl leaned in, far more interested in Garad's story than in the dry discussion their parents were having with Chen about how his family was doing. Garad nodded to her, making one last look to make sure no one was listening.

"Yeah, one of the brewers down in the wheelhouse told me," Garad went on, "She said there's a secluded monastery up there. She visits them sometimes on the way to the Granary and says she saw a huge man there, too big to be an orc but too small to be an ogre. Tusks; tan skin; armed to the _teeth, _Meili said. She's seen him skulking around between the trees."

"Wow!" Tari exclaimed, "I wonder if he knows Mr. Rexxar..."

"Just call him Rexxar, Tari," Garad said in a somehow exhausted voice, "Putting 'Mr.' in front of it makes you sound like a baby."

"Shut up! I am not a baby!" Tar'ash proclaimed loudly, pushing her elder brother hard, causing a cacophony of clanking ceramic bowls and chopsticks. The whole table stopped and looked at them. Tari shrank down in her seat at her mother's admonishing look. Garad's smile hardly faltered. There was a long stretch of silence, and just as Chen turned to continue what he was saying to her mother, Tar'ash exclaimed "Is it true that there's a Mok'Nathal at the monastery nearby?"

"Tar'ash!" snapped Aggra, her brown face twisted in anger, "You are a guest in this house. Do not interrupt people while they are speaking."

"They weren't-"

"_Tar'ash!_" Aggra hissed harshly, "Take your plate and go to your chamber."

"But-" Tari began to protest.

"Now!" her mother roared over the silence of the room. For a few seconds, all that could be heard was the low rumble of the waterwheel, far off, and the sound of a fountain in the garden. Tari stared her mother down with as big a scowl as she could muster, then loudly collected her plate and slipped off of her chair, leaning her back against the table until her crutch was firmly under her arm and in her hand. The white-and-blue porcelain bowl and wooden chopsticks balanced precariously on her plate as she marched towards the door.

"Do you need help with that, Tari?" her father asked her in a voice so kind that it annoyed her.

"NO!" Tar'ash bellowed at him, wishing he had come to her defense. She shot Garad an accusatory look as well; he mouthed the word "sorry," and Tar'ash hardened herself against the apology. She left the silent room behind her, losing one of her pork buns to the floor.


	4. Chapter 1, Part 3: Shards of Glass

The nightstand went first.

Leaning heavily against her crutch, Tari grabbed the small piece of furniture and tilted it over until it clattered to the floor, the empty drawer sliding halfway out. Then she knocked over her chair, her face twisted into scowl, her eyes threatening tears. She swept the quills and parchment and blocks of ink off her desk, threw her pillows across the room, kicked the tall dresser and the low bed. She grunted and howled, stamped her foot and slammed her crutch against the wooden walls. At last a sob burst out, and she fell onto her mattress, slamming her fists against the bedding.

The window in her room was low, wrought with black, metal beams woven into intricate geometric patterns. The panes of glass in them were thick, warping the view outside. It was facing east, Tari realized, at the stupid mountain Garad had told her about. She got angry again, scooting herself up to the edge of the bed and glaring at the mountain as if all this had been its fault. With one hand, she made a fist, then half-heartedly slammed it against one of the window's panes.

It hurt her knuckles, and the glass seemed to bounce her fist back at her, but Tari set her jaw; her anger made her stubborn. She balled her fingers into a fist again, and this time hit the glass harder. This time she winced and brought her knuckles up to her mouth, sucking on them. This made her even angrier, and she went after the window with full force this time, hitting at again and again, each time harder than the last, not realizing she was crying out in rage with each hit.

Tari knew she should not have been as surprised as she was when the glass shattered. It was not the pain, she hardly felt the shards stabbing into her hand. It was the sound of it breaking, the give when her fist went through it. For a few minutes, Tari just sat there, staring at her russet-colored hand as the blood trickled down to the crook of her arm. She didn't cry; instead, she grabbed her crutch, got to her feet, and walked calmly out of the room to find her parents, holding her perforated hand out to her side, rolling it to keep the blood from dripping on the floor.

They could still be eating, but Tar'ash would try their room first; she was pretty sure she'd only get in more trouble if she walked into their dinner with a bloody hand. Their voices as she approached proved it not to be so; she almost pulled back the sliding paper door when she heard what her parents were talking about.

"I just thought you were too hard on her," her father said gently. Tari could see from their silhouettes through the paper walls that he was seated.

"Well, one of us has to be," her mother returned, not unkindly, "You cannot keep treating her like a child, Go'el." She could see her mother was slowly dressing down for bed across the room, peeling off her shaman's robes and taking out some of her jewelry.

"She _is_ a child," her father answered. Tari was very sure now that they were talking about her, "We should allow her to be one while she still can. She'll have enough responsibilities when she grows up."

"She's not _going_ to grow up if you don't discipline her. How is she going to _handle_ those responsibilities if we don't show her now?" Aggra had turned to her mate, leaning back against the vanity. "We got lucky with Garad; he's becoming an adult on his own, but Tar'ash is different, she needs guidance."

Tari thought she heard padding footsteps coming down the hall, and she chewed her lip; she wanted to hear the rest of what they were saying, but if anyone found her out of her room and bleeding, she was sure they would take her in to see her parents immediately. She looked around desperately, the footsteps coming closer. Across the hall she saw an alcove with a small shrine, smoke from incense curling up into the cool air and then dissipating.

With surprising swiftness, Tar'ash hopped across the hall and managed to huddle into the alcove before a round-bellied Pandaren carrying an enormous barrel over his shoulder turned down the corner and walked past her. When he was gone she sighed in relief, then pricked her ears back towards her parents' conversation.

"She deserves a childhood," her father was saying, "not to be...locked up in a room and do only what she's told." Tari could see her mother's posture soften, and when she spoke her voice was gentler.

"Is that what this is about?" she asked, padding across the room to stroke his hair. His thick hand reached up to her hip. Tar'ash had to strain to hear Aggra's next words, a raspy whisper, "It's not the same thing. We are her family, Go'el, not her owners."

It took a moment for Tari to realize what her mother meant; her father, Go'el, had been raised as the slave of a human named Blackmoore. Back then he had been called "Thrall"—a human word for "slave."

"It's just...I never got to _be_ a kid, Aggra. Ever since Baine announced Garad as his successor to Warchief, it just feels like he's growing up too fast, and Tari...yes, she's outspoken and boisterous, but I _love_ that about her. I don't want to punish her for being herself."

"No punishment could stop Tar'ash from being herself," Aggra said in a cheerful tone, "but she _is_ going to become a woman one day, and it's our responsibility to make her ready for that. Sometimes, that means being hard on her."

Tar'ash's father, most suddenly, pulled Aggra against him, pressing his forehead to her stomach and sighing. "You're right..." he admitted.

"I always am," Aggra answered, and Tari could hear the smile in her words. Tari bit her lip, holding her aching hand, not liking the end of this conversation, but feeling now might be the time to go inside.

She made to step forward when her father said, "There's something else..." Tari froze, and her mother gave no answer, waiting for Thrall to finish. "When I went to get her for dinner...she was writing a letter to Zaela's boy."

Tari's heart jumped in her chest; he was talking about her letter to Gren. Her mother took a step back.

"You told her she was not to do so, didn't you?" Aggra asked him sharply, and Tari got a knot in her stomach. Her father's head inclined. "Go'el...you cannot condone her befriending that boy."

"She has so few orcish friends, Aggra, and he-" Thrall began, but his mate cut him off.

"I will not have it!" she snarled, "Not my daughter!" Tar'ash's heart sank. Her father had warned her, when she had first met Gren in Orgrimmar, to stay clear of him. This, of course, only made her want to know him more. He had gotten beat up for her, taking on 4 older boys who had told Tari that she should have been drowned at birth because of her leg. She had, for the first time, managed to call upon the spirits of water to heal his cuts and bruises. Gren was quiet and reserved, but Tari liked that about him. He listened to her, _really_ listened instead of smiling and nodding and waiting for her to be done speaking like the adults all did. She hated the idea of being unable to write him or see him again.

"We shouldn't punish the son for the sins of the father..." Thrall said, half-heartedly. Tar'ash furrowed her brow, confused; she did not know who Gren's father was, she realized.

"Truly? Is that what you told yourself when you handed the Horde over to Garrosh Hellscream? That he should not be punished for what his father had done? The orc that killed Cairne, that decimated the Proudmoore woman's kingdom, that had Vol'jin murdered in _cold blood_? You should have killed him when you had the chance, just as Zaela should have killed that boy the moment he slithered out of her womb-"

"Aggralan!" Thrall said sharply, "Don't say such things about a _child_."

"He is not _just_ some child. That family is _poison_, Go'el, especially for you. I will not have my daughter fall victim to it as you have."

"There's no proof-"

"Anyone with eyes has proof!" Aggra roared, and Tari could see her gripping Thrall's shoulder, her posture bent in anger, "You will tear up that letter and discipline your daughter, for once! I will not allow her to correspond with that demon-child!"

Tar'ash's anger had boiled again to the surface; she squeezed the wrist of her bloody hand and stalwartly deciding she would not ask her parents for help. She readjusted her crutch, not wanting to hear any more, and hobbled down the hall as quick and quiet as she could muster. She had, with the help of her older brother, absconded from keeps and castles many times undetected by her parents; getting out of the brewery was a easy compared to sneaking out of Grommash Hold. Slipping into the garden and then out through the garden gate, Tar'ash paused a moment, trying to think of where they would not come looking for her. Her eyes turned eastward, to a green patch of mountains. She bit her lip.

That would show them. If there _was_ a Mok'Nathal in the mountains, she would find him.


	5. Chapter 1, Part 4: A Flash of Red

She dropped the shards of glass into the water one by one, tumbling haphazard down until they disappeared in the murky bottom. Each time she plucked a shard from her hand she winced and sucked at the blood, the wound reopening. She once caught a stray splinter of glass in her gum and cried out, her voice echoing against the cool, grey stone of the mountains. She managed to claw out the bloody fragment, spitting a bit of blood in the water, then removing the last of the glass in quick succession, cringing as she did so. When the last of it was gone, she shoved her hand into the crystal pool and asked aloud for the spirits of water to heal her.

"Please, ancient spirits," she said, her father's words in her throat, "Please, take my blood as payment. Heal my wounds."

Her black blood billowed out into the clear water like a coming storm, more and more, and Tar'ash could not feel the tingling effervescence of it closing the cuts in her hands. She groaned and asked again.

"Please, please, _please_, spirits, heal my hand, it _hurts_ and it won't stop bleeding,  
she said imploringly, then added in a small whisper, "It's scaring me." Tar'ash was not sure why. Did she think she would bleed to death, or lose her hand somehow? The wounds were not that deep to be sure, and yet she felt a terrible dread and urgency at seeing the black cloud grow ever larger in the water, as though if she held her hand under long enough its darkness would overtake the whole pond. She knew she would be fine if she just went back home and let her father or mother, or even Garad, heal her. Perhaps that was the worst feeling of all; she started to cry.

"I don't want to go back!" she wailed, "My parents hate my friends and they like Garad better than me! He's better at being a shaman than me and he's good at talking to all the grown-ups...everything would be better if they'd only had Garad and not me! They should have drowned me like those kids said!"

Tears fell, and Tari squeezed her wrist, feeling like she had only ever been a problem and a burden for them all. Then, inexplicably, a wave of sympathy fell over her, the feel of someone putting their arm around you in comfort. There was no one there, though...only a gentle sound, or feeling, she couldn't be sure which, of waves crashing against her chest.

She thought for a moment she felt the spray of water on her face, the rush of a receding wave pulling her under, that helplessness. It was like the tug of sadness in her chest, and soon her soul felt as if it were coming up for air. A familiar tingling sensation tickled the cuts on her hand, and when she lifted it from the black cloud of blood, her wounds were closed.

She thought she ought to celebrate; she had only managed to channel the spirits of water twice before, but she couldn't bring herself to be cheerful. She was still sad and angry, but it felt as if it would get better. She finally admitted to herself that she'd eventually return to her family and apologize. Her mother would scratch her hair the way she liked, and maybe she and Garad would play snaps; he always let her win when she was sad.

She picked herself up from the flat rocks, dusting the dirt and mud from the knees of her robes, then looked back at the winding dirt path leading up the mountain, limned by small, stone lanterns in the shape of pagoda. She was not a great climber, but Tari knew if she followed the path she'd be fine. She hoped it lead her to the monastery Garad had spoken of, and to the mysterious Mok'Nathal; she refused to return until she'd found him.

The journey uphill was hard, and at last Tari stopped to have a rest at the side of the road, breathing long breaths, somewhat hidden from the light of the lamps. The mountains had been green, it turned out, because they were covered with a forest of bamboo. The tall chutes went up and up, swaying and creaking with the wind, the white light of the gibbous moon filtered green through the leaves, dappling the soft, black earth beneath. Tar'ash's bare skin was pleasantly cool, and the air smelled of wet leaves, dirt and blossoms from the few scattered trees. She was comfortable, peeling the paper-like bark off a nearby tree, feeling almost dreamy as her eyes searched between the bamboo. That's when she saw it; a flash of scarlet rushing between the chutes, so fast and quiet that Tari wasn't even sure she saw it.

She froze; her hand clutched her crutch, and her head shot around, searching for the source. The forest that had moments ago seemed peaceful, now felt eerie; the way the trees moved felt as if they were closing in around her, and the rustle of the leaves in the wind sent shivers up her spine.

_It could have just been a bird or something,_ she thought, but it did not ease her instincts. Her mother had always told her to listen to those instincts; that they were the spirits of the wild, howling warning in her heart. If it was an animal, was it a dangerous one? It had looked large, perhaps her height. If it was a person, why were they wandering the forest at night, off the path, and moving so quickly and quietly? Would they catch her and take her back home; or worse, did they mean her harm? Tar'ash sat in near silence for long moments, shrunk against the tree and looking about her frantically. She tried to quiet her heavy breath, her racing heart...but the sudden and loud—close—crack of a branch breaking under a heavy foot snapped her into immediate, almost unconscious action. Like a frightened deer, she bolted.

For what seemed like a long time there was nothing but dark green leaves and the sound of them rushing past her as she raced between the bamboo chutes and tree trunks, climbing up and out and away from the path and whatever had been approaching. All the trees were the same, she had no point of reference, only she she had to dart left or right to avoid running into anything. She only remembered the feeling that she was suddenly going downhill, then her footing gave out and all she knew was vertigo as she fell down, down, to darkness.


	6. Chapter 1, Part 5: The Crutch

Author's notes: Moving right along to one of my favorite scenes. Chapter one is nearly complete, and soon we'll move to chapter 2; I hope to keep uploading in these small bursts. Please comment! I'd love to hear your opinions and critiques, and especially if you see any lore mistakes so far; I'm still a little fresh in that department. Characters etc. belong to Blizzard. Enjoy!

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Hitting the ground felt like getting punched all over and all at once. Tari groaned, just laying on the forest floor at first, trying to will away the searing ache and hoping she hadn't broken anything. When the pain faded to bearability, she managed to take a knee. She reached for her crutch, only to realize it was not there.

Panic struck her. She looked around frantically for it, shuffling in the dirt and leaves; at last she looked up, and her heart sank. There it was, dangling 30 feet above her on the limb of a tree. Her knee buckled, and she sank to the ground and began to wail. Why had she run from the path? There had been no true threat; that flash of red had probably just been a trick of the eye. Now she was here, alone, in pain, unable to walk, with no idea where she was. How would she get back to the brewery now?

_Maybe I made this happen_, she wondered, thinking back on when she had thought her family would be better off without her. She hadn't really meant it...she cried out over and over, her voice loud in the empty forest, praying to the ancestors that someone might come to help her. She wasn't sure how close she had gotten to the monastery on the mountain, or how far she was from the road, and she became increasingly fearful that no one would find her at all.

Then she felt it again; her instincts jolting her, screaming at her to be afraid. She quieted and looked around, but told herself she was being stupid again. She heard nothing but the sway of the trees. It felt eerily quiet, and more and more she was uneasy. Her head shot around behind her when she heard the rustling of something moving against the underbrush, but it was too late.

A low growl rippled out from the bamboo, and in the dark she saw movement creeping forward towards her. Mirrored eyes flashed in the moonlight; black lips peels back to reveal glinting, yellow teeth. The shadows of the bamboo had hidden its striped, muscular form. Tari cried out and pulled herself back away from it, but the creature's muscles were coiling. She felt its hunger. It was crouching to strike, and fear froze her, looking only into those hungry yellow eyes.

It happened in a blink. One instant the tiger had been crouching, its claws extending, and the next it was falling to its side, spraying blood. She gasped and slid back, covering her mouth, too surprised to feel relief. She saw the axe; glinting steel with hints of green, before she saw its owner.

He was a hulking creature, too small to be an ogre but bigger than any orc she'd ever seen. He stalked out of the shadows, hooded and predatory, his fist closing around the small axe's haft, then tugging it from the tiger's neck with a grunt and the squishing sound of gore. His fist was a pale brown, paler even than she was; his cloak was patterned with soft jade and hunter green. His clothing was black, and covered him from toes to throat. He turned to look at her, and his eyes were the same fierce amber as those of the creature he'd just slaughtered.

"What are you doing out here alone?" he asked her in a harsh, guttural voice, almost...whispered, as if he had not spoken aloud in a long time. Tar'ash didn't know what to tell him; saying she was angry at her parents didn't seem like the answer he wanted. When she gave no answer at all, he asked instead, "Where do you come from?"

"Th...the brewery," was all she could manage. He grunted.

"What's wrong with your leg?" he asked, pointing at her small, stunted limb with the bloody axe. There was another at his waist, Tar'ash saw, also of Pandaren make.

"It...it doesn't work," she said, almost bewildered. It was, oddly enough, not a question people usually asked her directly.

"Doesn't work?" he asked, apparently perplexed, "Since when?"

"Since always..." Tar'ash answered truthfully, and a little indignantly. There was a long stretch of silence between the two, and eventually the stranger turned from her, wiping his axe on the trunk of a tree, then preparing to hoist the tiger over his shoulder and go. Tar'ash called him back.

"Th-thank you for saving me!" she told him, "Could you do one more thing for me?" He turned back around, the tiger looking hardly larger than a housecat on his massive shoulders, and narrowed his golden eyes at her. There was something unnerving about them, as if they could see into her head...her soul. It made her shrink, but she pressed on. "My crutch...it's stuck in that tree up there. Can you get it down for me?"

The Mok'Nathal—for that is who he must be, Tar'ash thought—inclined his head upwards at the trees, squinting to see the small, wooden crutch dangling from a branch. He snorted derisively.

"Get it yourself," he told her, then turned to go again. Tar'ash barked at him again to stop.

"I can't! I told you, my leg doesn't work, I can't climb a tree. You helped me from that tiger, can't you help me again?" The Mok'Nathal considered this, again studying her with his unnerving eyes.

"It would be difficult for you to climb," he said, "Not impossible."

"Is too! I can't climb or walk or anything. If you won't help me you should have just let the tiger eat me!"

"Maybe I should have," he growled. She recoiled; she had expected him to apologize for treating her so harshly, not to _agree_ with her. "If you care so little for your life, sit here and wail like a bleating lamb until something else comes to kill you. If you want to live, then climb the tree."

"But I caaaan't," she whined, hitting the ground with her fists in frustration. She had imagined meeting the Mok'Nathal much differently. "Why can't you just help me? It would be easy for you."

"Doing what's easy makes you soft and stupid. Are you these things, little girl?"

"No!" Tari protested hotly, wondering if she meant it...was she soft? If she was, would her parents tell her? Would Garad? She grasped the skirts of her robe, looking at her bony, stunted leg. Seeing it had never bothered her more than it did right now. "If I try and climb the tree it'll take so long that something else will come to eat me before I get it down anyway."

"I'll wait here until you retrieve it, then," he told her, his voice only slightly softer than it had been. There was another long silence as she stared up into the tree, the tiny crutch rotating lazily on the branch that held it in place.

"Do you really think I can?" she asked, quietly. The Mok'Nathal nodded. "It's really, really far up," she replied in almost a whisper, still looking above at her destination.

"Just go one branch at a time," he told her.

Tar'ash bit her lip, and looked across at the Mok'Nathal's implacable expression(what she could see of it under that hood). She steeled herself, then rolled onto her belly, dug her claws into the earth and pulled herself across the forest floor, using her good leg to push forward to the trunk of tree. She grasped onto underbrush and bamboo chutes, grunting and trying not to think how pathetic she must look. The journey across the ground, slithering like a snake, felt painfully long to Tari, but she could see the trunk of the tree getting closer, bit by bit, and that gave her heart. She was breathing heavy by the time her palms felt the rough texture of the tree's bark, and she hugged it the way she used to hug her father's leg when she was small. She looked back at the stranger.

He was seated now, legs crossed and arms extended out atop his knees, the bloody axe clutched casually in one of his huge fists. He was silent, watching her intently. She wet her lips and looked up. The crutch was hardly visible from this angle, and for a moment she panicked, thinking she had crawled to the wrong tree. Looking again, however, she saw it dangling from its perch almost mockingly.

"There's no branches low enough for me to grab on to..." she told the stranger in a quiet voice.

"You need to get up the trunk."

"How do I climb a tree trunk with one leg?"

"Dig your claws into the bark," he suggested, the gruff annoyance creeping back in. Tari shrank. Any bit of anger in his voice frightened her, so she did as she was bid; perhaps she could show him how impossible it was. There were a few false starts; flat slats of bark fell to the ground piece by piece, leaving the creamy-white wood beneath exposed and deep with claw marks. The Mok'Nathal said nothing. She fell twice, but both times she had been so close to the low branch she was aiming for that she immediately got back up to try again.

At last, she got a good purchase on a tight patch of bark, and lifted herself up until she could brace her good foot on the trunk. She remained there for a few strained seconds, suspended above the ground, then she pushed herself up. One arm snaked around the branch, then the next, her body swinging wildly. She dangled there, taking in deep breaths, then with much strain, pulled her body up and onto the branch. She sat up, then beamed over at the Mok'Nathal, wonderfully proud of herself. It was hard to see his face from so far away, but she thought he might be smiling.

"Hard part's over," he told her gently, "Now the rest." This time, Tar'ash didn't argue, only nodded and looked up, extending her arms towards the next branch up. It was long work, and strenuous, but the Mok'Nathal said nothing when she stopped to catch her breath, only watched her with his focused, yellow eyes. Any time she wanted to complain that she was tired or that her task was impossible, that look kept the words buried in her throat.

Her crutch got closer, and the ground got farther. Her forehead was coated in sweat by the time she finally thought she might be able to grab it, clawing the trunk of the tree to pull herself to one foot. It was just above her, and she looked up at it silhouetted by the moon through the branches, green and white light spiraling down at her through leaves and branches. It was almost like a halo, she thought, as she extended up hand up for it, black against the light. Her torso stretched. She grasped a branch for support and leaned outwards. Her fingertips brushed the soft leather that was wrapped at the crutch's tip, but she could not grasp it or knock it off its perch.

_If I could just take a step outwards, I could get it,_ she thought. She looked down once at the long drop, then shut her eyes and shuffled her foot out farther onto the branch. It shuddered, and she held fast as it bobbed up and down for a few seconds. She clenched her teeth and whined nervously, then extended her hand again. No closer than before; if she wanted to reach her crutch, she would need to let go of the branch she was grasping with her other hand. Her heart raced at the thought, her eyes studying her pale knuckles. She started to look down again.

_No! _she chided herself, _If I look down I won't do it, I'll be too scared. Just let go and then grab it. _She fixed her eyes on the crutch's silhouette, extended her arm, took a deep breath, and let go.

For a brief moment she felt like she was standing on her own. Then she leaned forward. As she felt her body tipping over, her hand grasped for the crutch. She felt its smooth wood, scrambling in those brief seconds the wrap her fingers around it. The crutch swung back from the force of her grasping hand, then shrank as she began to plummet.

She must have hit every branch she had used to climb up on her way back down. She cracked one elbow, and her thigh scraped against a hard patch of bark. The world felt like it was tumbling all around her, and the vertigo that struck her was so strong she thought she might throw up or pass out. Tari shut her eyes, and her body at last stopped moving.

She'd landed in something softer than the ground, and warmer; she peeled her eyelids back and saw herself looking up into the unmoved eyes of the Mok'Nathal. He put her down, and the tears boiled up from her chest. She didn't even try to stand.

"Again," he told her.

"I can't!" she wept, "I tried and I can't! It's impossible, I'm just a stupid cripple, I can't do anything! Why are you being so mean to me?" Tar'ash buried her face in her hands, feeling the burning of the skin rubbed off on her thigh, the barbed ache of her elbow, the shattering disappointment. She had been so close...

The clatter of wood made her look up, and through her tears she saw her crutch laying on the ground next to her. The Mok'Nathal was in the tree, holding himself up with one muscular arm. He dropped down behind her. Tari's arms rushed for the crutch, pulling it to her and clutching it to her chest like it was a doll. Having it back in her keeping immediately made her feel safe again. Behind her, she heard the stranger's heavy footsteps. She turned; he was marching away towards the cover of the trees, the tiger over his shoulder.

"Thank you!" she cried out earnestly, "You helped me a lot." He stopped for a moment, illuminated by a scattered beam of moonlight, turning his head to look at her one last time. His amber eyes were filled with such disgust and loathing that Tar'ash physically recoiled. His scarred, pale-brown, upper lip curled up from his black jaw.

"No I didn't," he snarled, voice thick with revulsion. He turned, leapt downwards, and was gone.


	7. Chapter 1, Part 6: Fire

A young pandaren dressed in deep, dark green from head to toe found her hobbling downhill through the bamboo forest, and hurriedly shuffled her back to the main path and towards the brewery. His name was Bo-bao, and he was in a great rush. Tari struggled to keep pace, but she refused to be carried despite his many insistent offers; she only ever let her father carry her around. Tar'ash found that she was eager to be back with her family. They will have been worried, and while in her anger she had steeled herself against guilt, now she could not deny it. She would apologize when they returned, she decided, and take her punishment without complaint.

As she moved downward, she couldn't stop thinking about how good the leather of the crutch's handle felt against her palm. There was such comfort in having it in her grasp again; the encounter with the stranger had proved how much she needed it, and she shuddered to think back on crawling across the ground on her belly, or dangling helplessly from the branch of the tree. _I did climb it, though, _she admitted. She should have felt pride, but all she could think of was her hand reaching for the crutch, and of the last look the stranger gave her.

The brewery was soon in sight, and while it usually seemed quiet and peaceful, with the slow and steady rhythm of the water-wheel churning, the place now seemed like a buzzing hive, black and white forms moving rushing around the grounds and calling to one another in distressed voices. Had she caused such a commotion, she wondered? Tari had run off before, and there had not been such fanfare. Had she been gone longer than she'd thought?

One tall, broad-chested monk stopped when he spotted her and her companion. "Is that her?" he asked from across the yard, and Bo-bao replied in the affirmative. They closed the gap between them, and the tall monk continued to ask questions even as they walked briskly inside.

"Where did you find her?" he asked Bo-Bao.

"In the bamboo forest out to the east, coming down from the mountain," Bo-Bao informed him nervously, keeping one eye on Tari.

"Is she hurt?" the tall monk continued.

"No, she's fine," Bo-bao responded. Tar'ash had not told him about the scrape on her thigh, too embarrassed to lift her skirt up and show him. The monk looked down at her suspiciously, then back up to the pandaren in green.

"Did she see anything?"

"I...didn't ask."

"Did you see anything, little girl?" The monk was talking to her now. Tari thought about the Mok'Nathal(though she was not sure now that was what he had been), but she found she didn't want anyone to know what happened beneath that tall tree, and not completely sure why. The flash of red came to her thoughts as well, but that seemed too stupid to mention. Tari only shook her head. The monk seemed displeased with that response. "At least she's back unharmed," the monk told Bo-bao, who was looking at her with the same sad, sympathetic expression he'd been surreptitiously giving her since he'd found her in the forest. When she caught his eye, he looked away. She heard the soft rumble of her father's voice down the hall, and something in his tone made her feel cold all over. She moved faster.

"...doing to her? I should be out there looking," Thrall said, his breath labored.

"We have the whole brewery searching the grounds and surrounding area, old friend," came Chen's gentle voice, more sorrowful than Tar'ash had ever thought it could sound, "If Tar'ash or the elf are out there, we'll find them."

"Papa?" Tar'ash called, moving at the closest she could get to a run, holding her crutch firmly with both hands. Her father's voice hitched when he replied.

"Tari?" he called, and then his huge, green form was at the end of the hallway. Tar'ash closed the distance between them and fell against him, hugging his waist. He knelt and took her into his huge arms, hugging her so tightly it hurt.

"Oh! I'm so glad you're alright, little one," he whispered to her. His voice sounded almost frail. Her mother had been hard on Thrall's heels with her arms around them both now, her claws digging into Tari's shoulder.

"Where were you?" she asked harshly, leaning back and taking Tari by the face with both hands, "Did someone take you?" Tari's eye were wide and she shook her head.

"No, I just...I was just mad. Why would someone take me? Mama, what's happening, why's everyone so upset?"

Her parents looked at each other. Her father let out a long, quavering breath, and her mother closed her eyes.

"Tar'ash," Thrall began steadily, "It's..." His voice dropped off and his fist went to his mouth with a sob. His shoulders shook, then he suddenly got to his feet and roared with rage and sorrow, throwing a wave of fire at the wall beside him, then bursting into hot, angry tears. Aggra stood and pulled him back, raising a hand; a soft trickle of water hissed the remains of the fire away. Thrall turned and buried his face in her shoulder. She stroked his back, then looked down at her daughter. Staring up into her mother's tear-brimmed eyes, Tari never felt so small.

"Tar'ash," she began in a whisper, "it's...it's your brother."


	8. Chapter 2, part 1: Falling

Light was welling up from the horizon like molten tears, painting the heat-warped sky pink and orange. The call of birds echoed out over the gardens, heralding the morning, cheerfully ignorant of the happenings of the night before. The air was cool and wet, the dew sliding down the face of giant leaves likes tears down someone's cheek. A low mist hung 'round the small stone table where Aggra and Thrall sat across from Chen Stormstout. Tari sat quietly by the sliding door on a tall stool, and from where she was they looked hazy; faded, like ghosts. As she listened to them talking, Tari was counting the slow, rhythmic thunks of the rocking fountain as it filled with water, then emptied. Filled, then emptied. Filled, then emptied.

"It was Valeera Sanguinar, I'm sure of it," Thrall said quietly, giving Chen a fierce and stalwart expression, "I saw her leave through the window when I came into the room." The old brewmaster sighed, his fingers folded atop his round stomach, and nodded.

"My scouts will keep looking, of course, but she is likely in the wind by now," he admitted, taking off his wide, straw hat and scratching his scalp. Thrall inclined his head and squeezed his hand into a tight fist.

"I should have chased her down and smashed in her skull," he hissed. Aggra hushed him, kissing his shoulder, and Thrall's posture relaxed somewhat. His thumb stroked his mate's knuckles.

"I cannot say how sorry I am that this has happened inside my walls, old friend," Chen said, his tone speaking the truth of the words, "Do you...have any idea of the reason?"

Clutching hands, her parents turned to look at each other. Aggra turned to Chen, her brow bulging with wrinkles, pushed together by her mahogany eyebrows.

"When we were in Orgrimmar, we sat down with the Warchief...to discuss the future of the Horde. Baine has no children, and no prospects for any, so he...we...decided that he would name Garad as his successor. And the elf woman...this...Valeera...Go'el tells me she is a close friend of the King of Stormwind."

Chen sucked in a breath, his wide stomach bulging outwards. His eyes closed for a few seconds, then opened. "I hardly dare to utter it, but...you think this a political move on the part of the Alliance?"

"Of course it is!" Tari's father roared, slamming his fist on the table, causing the gentle China to shutter and ring, "After Garrosh, they can't bear to see another orc on the throne; Jaina told me as much. I knew they'd be wary...but this?"

Tar'ash heard her father's voice crack, and she saw the shape of her mother leaning into him. In a harsh whisper, he uttered, "They are going to pay the dearest price." Tari shuddered and pulled her legs up to her chest; she had never been more frightened of him. There was a long silence, then the door beside her slid open and a Pandaren marched out, hardly noticing the girl on the stool. He approached Chen and whispered something in his ear. The old brewer nodded, and with some difficulty, stood.

"Dear friends...you are welcome here as long as you need, but know we have made the preparations you requested," Chen told them quietly. Thrall stood, pulling Aggra up with him.

"Then we will leave immediately," he told Chen, steadying his voice and squaring his shoulders, then marching for the main gate. Barely a step in, Chen tried to dissuade him.

"Perhaps you should take some time to grieve-" Thrall spun on him, fire in his eyes.

"I will grieve when my son's murderers are_ in the ground_!" he roared, and his last words echoed out across the gardens, shattering against the stones again and again until it faded into the mist. Chen looked down to his feet. Tar'ash buried her face in her knees.

"Very well," the old brewer said in a sorrowful, resigned voice, "Cho-ma, lead us to the wagon." The pandaren beside him bowed respectfully, then almost floated past in his white robes. Aggra turned to Tari.

"Come, my heart, this way. We depart for Orgrimmar." For an instant, Tar'ash thought to ask, "What about Garad?" but a breath of a second later she knew that was a stupid question; he was coming with them. That was what the wagon was for. She instead said nothing, only steadied her crutch and slid carefully from her perch on the stool, then hobbled slowly over to join her parents. Cho-ma lead them out of the garden gate to the main road, and the whole walk Tari found herself clutching her mother's skirt the way she used to when she was younger. Aggra didn't pluck her hand off this time, though...only slowed her pace to match Tari's.

The walk was mostly silent until they reached the road, then Thrall and Aggra spoke quietly about the way to the Orgrimmar portal at Honeydew Village. A low rumble, and wood creaking, heralded the cart's arrival. Tar'ash saw it from across the road, and sucked in a breath.

Inside the wagon was a ceremonial sheet shaped like a boy. It looked the way statues looked to Tari—pale, stone creatures frozen in time, a cold mockery of life. That's not my brother, she thought. That thing wasn't the boy who mussed her hair and spun her around on his shoulders. It didn't know how to play snaps, or the perfect place to catch crawfish, or how to get out of a keep between the walls.

Before she knew it she was limping over, slow at first, then fast, her crutch digging into the dry gravel of the road in just the right way to gain momentum. Distantly, she heard her feather yell for her to stop, but before he could catch her, her fist grasped the sheet and pulled it into the dust.

Only one eye was open - half lidded and glossed over. He wouldn't look at her, instead staring off into the hills, as if he was not here with her, but there—far away. His lips were cracked with black, parted just slightly, his tongue pressing up against his teeth and slightly out, stiff and solid. His skin was the dull color of rot. His nostrils didn't flare, his chest didn't rise, and an angry wound split across his throat like the scar in the barrens.

She could see inside his neck, see his severed veins shriveled closed, the wiring that had kept him alive cut apart. The skin on his throat was wrinkled and puckered, and the inside was crusted over with dry, black blood. She could not tear herself away from that darkness; she stared into that cavernous rend as if it would pull her in, and she'd fall forever. She felt her face tighten, the wail building from her stomach and bubbling up through her throat, and soon hot tears were covering her cheeks.

Strong arms went around her and she was lifted from the ground, given a shoulder to bury her face into. Her father's voice rumbled in her ear, cracked with sorrow. "Don't look, Tari," he told her, "Don't look, little one, close your eyes, forget what you saw..."

But she knew then that she would never forget that sight...it had burned its way into her soul.


End file.
